


Wings

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Hot Chocolate, M/M, side pairing: Sam/Jess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds the perfect present for Cas, but he's hesitant to give it to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princessinarmor](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=princessinarmor).



This is stupid. God, this is so stupid. Cas has never expressed any interest at all in getting hitched, so why the Hell is Dean standing here in this quaint little store holding a _ring_?

This is stupid.

He puts it back in its little display box.

He doesn’t walk away, though. He just stares at it. It’s pretty. It’s perfect for Cas, too - not too fancy, he would hate that - simple, pewter, formed in the shape of two wings wrapped in a circle. Cas never used to like being named after an angel, but ever since Dean started using the term as a nickname, it’s become much less a nuisance and much more a part of him. A part of him that belongs to Dean.

Dean’s fingers twitch at his side.

He picks up the ring again, box and all, standing rooted to the floor.

This is stupid.

Cas won’t like it, he’ll feel pressured, and he’ll get uncomfortable and he’ll ask Dean to “give him some space” and then the next thing you know he’ll be gone.

Dean puts it back.

Then picks it up again, this time turning quickly for the register before he loses his momentum.

“Is this gonna be all for you today?” The cashier asks, looking up at him expectantly.

Dean bites his lip and glances around quickly. His eyes catch on a little wire Christmas tree beside him on the counter, laden down with ornaments. On top of the tree sits an angel, big dumb fluffy wings with a tiny head and a tiny body. The ornament is white, and sparkly, and Cas will make a face at him, but he grabs it anyway.

“This too.”

He starts to turn around three times before he makes it out the door with his little plastic shopping bag in hand. _You can return it later_ , he tells himself. He has the ornament, in case he chickens out; he doesn’t have to decide about the ring just yet.

Sliding into the Impala and tossing the bag onto the passenger seat, Dean spares a second to glance at his watch, only long enough to figure he has enough time to run home and wrap his presents before he has to meet Cas.

An easy drive and two Led Zeppelin songs later, he hurries into their small apartment, dropping his keys on the table by the door. He’s got all his wrapping paper and gift bags out already, strewn carelessly across the living room floor around his presents for Sam and Jess. _Shit_ , he needs to get this cleaned up before bringing the tree home.

It’s tight, but he manages to wrap Cas’ ornament in a little red bag with white tissue paper sticking out the top, and slip the ring - out of its box now - into his pocket, and get the wrapping supplies shoved into a cardboard box, _and_ get to the tree farm just on time.

Cas is there early, of course. Dean can see him from the parking area, cheeks pinked with cold under his shining, overly-excited blue eyes. When he jogs over to the Impala, waving, Dean can hear the crunch of his dark snow boots, and the bright blur of cotton gloves makes Cas’ hands look like they’re striped pink and orange and white.

“Hey, angel,” he greets as he steps out of the car. He can’t seem to stop smiling; Cas is grinning up at him with childlike excitement, face all scrunched up with the force of his joy, and it’s freaking contagious. “Ready to find ourselves a tree?”

Cas doesn’t even reply, mouth split too wide in a grin, just grabs Dean by the hand and tugs him towards the trees. He can feel Cas’ warm hand through both of their gloves.

Outside the cluster of trees the snow was mostly tamped down, but inside, it’s different. There’s not much room to walk between the evergreen branches feathering out from thin trunks, and the narrow paths that do exist are treacherous with calf-deep snow. Cas, in his green winter coat, would almost blend in if it weren’t for his white snow-pants and his excessively bright green hat.

He makes a show of nearly falling, hands flailing out and “accidentally” knocking a branchful of snow onto Dean’s head. Dean shouts - he doesn’t yelp, absolutely not - and leans down to fill his palms with as much snow as he can hold before lunging forward to ease it under the neckline of Cas’ winter coat.

Cas definitely _does_ yelp. Dean positively cackles behind him.

“Dean Winchester, I’m trying to pick out a tree!” he admonishes, whirling around to glare. The effect is ruined by the way he jumps around, trying to shake the snow out from inside his coat, and Dean just grins.

Cas _harumphs_ and takes off again through the tight pathway of branches.

 

They manage to find a tree and get it home without too much more trouble. Dean yanks Cas’ hat off to shove a handful of snow onto his head before putting it back on, and Cas crams Dean’s boots full of snow around his ankles when he’s distracted looking at their tree, but other than that, they make it home unscathed.

There’s a bit of a tussle when they take the tree down from Baby’s roof, because Cas feels the need to brush off the extra snow and pine needles and fling them at Dean, and then Dean feels the need to tackle him to the ground and press Cas’ face into the cold wetness, but after that they get it inside with minimal difficulty.

Cas strips off his coat, jacket and shirt as soon as they’ve stabilized the tree. Dean tries not to stare; it’s difficult, though, because Cas’ back, all lean muscles that bunch in his shoulders, is gleaming wet, blushing red from the coldness of the melted snow.

“How long until your brother gets here?” Cas asks, dumping his wet clothes in a dense pile on the floor.

Dean swallows and stops ogling Cas’ back, staring in forced fascination at the corner of the ceiling where white meets the light blue of the walls. A quick glance at his watch, then back to the ceiling.“ ‘Bout twenty minutes.”

“Alright. I’m gonna grab a quick shower, then,” Cas says, and then Dean hears him walking towards the stairs.

He jumps up, following quickly, hands settling on Cas’ hips just as he reaches the steps. “Hey, I’ll join you,” he murmurs.

But Cas wiggles away from him. “No, you won’t,” he says calmly. “I haven’t forgiven you for dumping snow down my shirt.”

And Dean whines, and points out that really, Cas was the one who started it, but it doesn’t make any difference. Cas trudges resolutely into the bathroom, and Dean towels off his hair and changes clothes before running back downstairs to get out the ornaments.

 

“Hey, Sammy!” Dean pulls his brother into a one-armed hug as soon as he’s in the door. He gives Jess a nod and a warm smile, and she smiles back as she slips her arm through Sam’s. This is her first year as a part of their annual “Decorate the Tree Two Weeks before Christmas” get-together, the one Dean started last year, Sam’s first year back from college.

“Where’s Cas?”

“Oh, he’s upstairs, should be down -” the sound of feet running quickly down the stairs is almost loud enough to cover Dean’s voice “-soon. Hey, Cas.”

Cas, dressed now in loose sweatpants and Dean’s AC/DC t-shirt, drops a tiny kiss on his shoulder before dragging off to the living room.

Dean follows, giving Sam and Jess a moment to shed their coats. He laughs, “You forgive me now?”

“I guess,” Cas says noncommittally. “You better have a really great present for me this year.”

Dean’s stomach turns over. The ring feels heavy in the pocket of his jeans. “Yeah,” he manages. “Yeah, ‘course I do.” He clears his throat. “So! Decorating time? I’ve got ornaments and popcorn and string,” he points to each item as he names it, “and Cas wanted the biggest tree we could find.”

Cas hits him in the arm. Sam and Jess smile, and Sam takes the lid off the big box of ornaments, picking out a an old “Baby’s First Christmas” ornament - it’s shaped like a candy cane, with a small, round picture frame at the bottom that holds a picture of Sam with his graduation cap. “ _For your first Christmas as a lawyer_ ,” Dean had said last year when Sam opened the little newspaper-wrapped package.

Sam shakes his head, finding a spot on the tree while Jess sifts through the other ornaments.

Cas settles on the floor, crossed legs brushing the bowl of popcorn Dean made earlier in the day. He unwinds a length of thread from the spool and meticulously threads a needle, holding a piece of popcorn between two fingers and spearing the needle through. He grins when it works, holding it up to show Dean.

“Nice.” Dean flops down on the floor on his stomach, reaching for another needle, licking the end of it and getting the through the needle eye on the fifth try. He pops one piece of popcorn into his mouth (which earns him a slap on the head from Cas) and holds another carefully in his fingers, mimicking Cas’ earlier movements. Tongue poking out the side of his mouth, he jabs the needle forwards, starting to smile smugly, but -

but it didn’t work. In his hand, there’s nothing but a broken-in-three piece of popcorn and an empty needle.

A loud laugh erupts from beside him, and he glances up to see Cas, a string weighted down with four pieces of popcorn dangling from his fingers, laughing down at him happily.

“Shut up,” Dean mumbles, flinging his broken popcorn at his boyfriend’s face. It falls short, but it still lands in Cas’ lap, and it still earns Dean a good-natured shove.

Cas strings another piece, fingers careful and deft.

“Show off,” Dean mutters.

Cas ignores him.

Later, after two completed strings (courtesy of Cas), and 12 pieces of popcorn down Sam’s pants (courtesy of Dean), Cas disappears into the kitchen to make hot chocolate while Sam and Jess wrestle with the lights, and then they all sit down on the floor, faces lit only by the muted glow of the tree’s lights. Sam leans against the wall with Jess reclined against his chest, his legs framing hers.

Lounging on his side, head propped up on one hand, Dean grins lazily. “Hey, Cas, how come _you’re_ not between _my_ legs?” He wags his eyebrows and Cas, sitting with his knees tucked to his chest and his mug wrapped between his hands, rolls his eyes.

“Do you two have plans for Christmas yet?” he asks, effectively changing the subject.

Jess smiles at him. “Not solid plans. We’re waiting to hear from Mary about dinner before we plan the rest of our day. How about you two?”

Dean cuts him off before he can even open his mouth. “We’re going to church with Cas’ family.” Cas glares at him, but Dean doesn’t even acknowledge it. He’s never even _met_ Cas’ family before, and now on Christmas he gets to meet all of them at once, and in just the right setting - if they turn out to be obnoxious, a church service seems like it will prove a perfect excuse not to talk. “We already invited Anna over for lunch after. She has plans later but she said she could stop by to give Cassie a present.”

Cas glowers at the use of that nickname, and Dean throws his head back in a laugh, his whole body warm and lazy and content.

“I think it’s a cute name,” he insists. Cas doesn’t reply. They’ve had this conversation before.

The night lapses into a comfortable silence, everyone taking sips of their hot chocolate and gazing at the Christmas tree with that special, excited, proud, in-awe feeling that comes with Christmas decorations.

Dean’s the first to finish his drink, smacking his lips and setting his mug down on the floor with a dull _thud_. Jess’ is gone next, finished quietly and placed carefully on the ground. When Sam has taken his last swallow, his mug joins Jess’ on the floor, and he rubs his hands lightly up and down her arms.

“It’s pretty late,” he says quietly.

Jess hums in agreement. “We should probably get going,” she sighs, climbing to her feet and holding a hand out for Sam. He smiles up at her and accepts the help, and Dean feels his chest swell so full it feels about to burst. Sam hasn’t been as happy as he is with Jess since the day he got accepted to Stanford.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Dean says loudly, clambering ungracefully to his feet to get their coats. “I expect a call from you tomorrow,” he tells Sam, pointing at him accusingly, “I want to hear how the mock trial goes.”

Cas gets up and joins them at the door, still cradling his cup of cocoa. “Thank you for coming over to help,” he says warmly.

More smiles, more nods, more unnecessary thank-yous, and Sam and Jess finally make it out the door, hands wrapped together and shoulders bumping as they walk through the cold to Sam’s car. Dean watches them fondly from the window.

“They’ll be fine, Dean, it’s not even snowing anymore,” Cas calls from back in the living room.

Dean rolls his eyes. “The roads get icy at night,” he defends.

“They’ll be fine, Dean,” Cas repeats. With a sigh, Dean trudges back to join Cas, flopping down onto the couch, stretching out on his side and patting the cushions in front of him.

“C’mere.”

Cas tilts his head back and drains the last of his cocoa, then retreats to the kitchen to put his mug in the sink before wandering back and curling himself onto the couch in front of Dean. Dean drapes an arm over Cas’ waist, tugging him closer and holding him securely so that he won’t fall off. He lets his lips brush against the back of Cas’ neck, light, dry touches mapping out the expanse of warm skin. Cas’ hand tangles with the one Dean has resting on his stomach.

It’s getting darker outside by the minute, the watery light of streetlamps filtering through the window and touching the soft, warm glow of the Christmas tree. Speckled patches of light and dark color the gray of Cas’ t-shirt in front of Dean’s eyes, paint the tanned skin bright and pale. Dean draws circles on Cas’ knuckles with the pad of his thumb, lips still absentmindedly tracing patterns on Cas’ neck.

The ring feels heavy in his pocket. It feels like Cas’ body is pressing it into his leg, like it’s pressed so tightly between them that Cas can surely feel it. Dean tries to shift his weight backwards, but Cas just melts back into him, and Dean swallows nervously.

“Hey, Cas?” There’s a slight tremor at the end of Cas’ name, and Dean curses internally.

“Hmm?”

Shit. He should’ve planned this out before he opened his mouth. What’s he gonna do now? Vault over Cas to kneel on the floor and say, “Hey, I know this is totally random and unexpected and we haven’t really talked about anything like this before but do you maybe wanna get married sometime?”

Fuck, this is stupid. He’s so stupid. Now is not the right time, not when everything’s so perfect; they’re warm, and there’s snow outside, and the tree is heavy with ornaments and lights and popcorn strings, and they’re close together and relaxed and he should just forget about the stupid ring.

“Nothing, nevermind,” he mumbles, and Cas doesn’t press.

They lapse into an easy silence, the only sound the occasional car passing on the road outside and the soft mantra of their breathing. Cas always takes these intense, yogi deep breaths, his stomach rising and falling noticeably under Dean’s hand. His breath hitches a little when Dean’s teeth nip at his earlobe, and Dean grins.

The ring still feels heavy in his pocket. It feels hot, burning, like it’s trying to escape through the thick denim, like it wants nothing more than for Dean to man up and give it to Cas.

Dean takes a steadying breath, hoping Cas can’t feel his heart beating erratically in his chest. He probably can; Dean can feel the soft, easy beats of Cas’ heart, and surely the connection runs both ways.

Dean takes another slow, deliberate breath. His heart is racing out a car chase-fast tattoo, thunderously loud to Dean’s own ears in the quiet of the room.

He swallows, wanting to say something - he doesn’t know quite what yet - but there’s a hard lump in his throat, a condensed ball of tempered excitement and worry and _God-what-if-Cas-doesn’t-like-it_. There’s no way he’ll be able to get the words out. Even if he could think of something to say, something better than, “So, I saw this and thought maybe we should tie the knot,” there’s still no way he could force the words beyond the rock in his throat.

He settles for wriggling behind Cas, extracting his hand from Cas’ hold and shoving it into his pocket, fingertips brushing the body-warmed loop of metal. Cas makes a disgruntled, confused sound as Dean’s movements jostle him.

“You okay, Dean?” Cas asks finally.

Dean licks his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘m fine.”

The ring feels suddenly burning hot in his hand, even though he knows it’s only a little warm after being in his pocket all night. The heat leaches into his chest, weaving itself through his ribs and _squeezing_ until he can’t breathe quite right. Each pull of his lungs only brings in a small gasp of air, not deep enough, so shallow he feels out of breath and lightheaded in no time.

He needs to get the ring out of his hand. Needs to put it away, or give it to Cas, do _something_ with it, because the anxiety-inducing _bigness_ of everything it could mean, just hanging heavy in the air, is too much.

A shaky hand slides back down the soft plane of Cas’ stomach, fingers curled around the ring. When his knuckles touch Cas’ hand, Dean tenses up involuntarily before he can force himself to relax.

_Breathe._

_It’s gonna be fine._

_Calm the fuck down._

Slowly, with an effort worthy of myth, Dean uncurls his fingers, letting the ring drop into Cas’ loosely open palm. Cas starts a little against him. Dean leaves his hand on the shallow dip of Cas’ hipbone while Cas lifts his hand to inspect the ring, turning it carefully in his fingers.

Dean can imagine the way his eyes have gone wide; huge, bright, sparkling in the low light, shining with either excitement or dismay…

Dean’s breath catches in his throat as he waits for Cas to say something.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“Dean, is this…?”

Cas’ thoughts are impossible to discern from the tone of his voice. Dean shifts uncomfortably.

“It’s whatever you want it to be, Cas,” he manages eventually.

His mouth feels dry. His throat feels dry. His hands feel sweaty.

Cas moves, uses one hand to push himself upright - he’s leaving, oh, God, he’s actually leaving - and the other to steady himself.

And then…

He turns.

He turns so that he’s facing Dean, legs slotting together on the tight space of the couch, arms bunched up between their chests, hot breath mingling, noses inches apart, every bit of them pressed up together.

“Dean,” he says solemnly. “What do _you_ want it to be?”

“I… I want -”

He cuts himself off before it all comes tumbling out. _I want you, Cas. I want all of you; I want to wake up next to you every morning and drag my fingers through your tangled hair and I want to hear you grumble at me as you squint your eyes open, and I want to come home to meet you for dinner and I want to crawl into bed beside you every single night, and I want you to wear that damn ring on your finger so that everyone knows._

Cas is still looking at him, face blank and eyes intense.

With a shuddering breath, Dean manages to say, “Everything. Want it to mean everything, Cas.”

There’s a heart-stopping moment where Cas’ expression doesn’t change, but then suddenly, he smiles, and Dean’s heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas murmurs. “I - I want that, too, but… only if you do.”

By the time they manage to disconnect their lips, the ring has found its way onto Cas’ finger. His left ring finger, to be exact. Dean holds Cas’ hand in both of his, running his thumb over the textured ridge of the ring.

“Yeah, Cas, I do.”


End file.
